Time
by TirOrah
Summary: In a world at war, two soldiers fight side by side for a chance at liberation. But can the future bring them something more?
1. Chapter 1

I belatedly found out that today is Holocaust Remembrance Day, and I immediately wanted to try uploading a Strike Witches fic in honor of it. This one happened to fit the best, although my original plan was to keep it off the internet until all of the chapters were finished. Oh well. I'll do my best to get the next chapter ready, but it might be a while, as usual.

The title is based on one of Minna's character songs, which is called _Toki_ , or _Time_ in English.

Disclaimer: Strike Witches is the legal property of Shimada Humikane. I write fanfiction to pay homage to the source material and promote awareness of its existence. And for fun. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

 _July 17, 1941_

Castle Barin was a massive base, Minna thought. She knew this, of course, but it seemed so much larger when one was dreading the destination ahead. Two more hallways and she would be there. She wrung her hands.

Minna had many worries. Their new wing's budget, for one, and especially the struggle to even get the Joint Fighter Wing project off the ground in the first place. But what concerned her most of all was morale. It had only been about a month since the fall of Gallia, and the losses weighed heavily on all of them. None more so, it seemed, than her oldest friend in the wing.

With the lull in battle as of late, it was becoming increasingly obvious that something was wrong with Trude. Minna knew why; Trude loved her family, and her sister's comatose state was a constant source of stress. They hadn't had time to discuss it during the evacuation, what with the constant fighting and relocating, but they had agreed to talk when they could.

Now that moment was here, and Trude was pulling away instead. She never spoke unless it regarded a military matter and any attempts to strike up casual conversation fell flat. What free time she had was spent training, inspecting, or doing paperwork, mostly alone. This was more than reticence; she was isolating herself.

Minna hadn't pushed at first—Trude highly valued personal space, and she respected that—but she did not seem to be improving. She then attempted to draw Trude out of her shell at the end of a meeting, only for the other to walk out.

 _Leave me alone,_ she'd said. The room had seemed so cold and empty afterward.

That had been yesterday. It was a clear signal that she could not wait any longer. If she let Trude put even more distance between them, she felt like she might lose their friendship forever. And the thought of losing another loved one…

Her hands trembled without her permission and she let out a shuddering breath. That wound was still fresh. She didn't want to go through such a thing again.

Too soon and not soon enough, she rounded the corner to the hangar, spotting Trude right away. Her friend's back was to her. She held a MG42 in one hand while she slotted the saddle drum magazine with the other, before returning the machine gun to its mounting. It seemed she had just finished an inspection of her weaponry; both MG42s had a sheen to them that suggested they had recently been cleaned.

Minna glanced around, confirming no one was around—although her magic had already told her as much—before she stepped forward, hesitation slowing her.

"Trude?"

Trude turned around, not looking surprised in the least; apparently she'd heard her coming. "Ma'am," She snapped off a salute.

Minna returned it automatically, more for protocol than anything else. Then she gave Trude what she hoped was a disarming smile. "Please, relax. I'm not here on official business."

Trude didn't return the smile, and although she did stand at ease, her body language remained unchanged: stiff and tense, with a stony expression to match. Honey brown eyes, once naturally warm, were now cold and uninviting, accentuated by an ever-present frown.

Trude's eyes were what worried Minna the most. Before, even when they weren't friends yet, Minna was able to see the drive and zeal that Trude put into her work. There was passion there—hidden in lieu of a professional demeanor of course—but it had always been rather obvious to Minna's perceptive eye. Now she could see none of that, and she wanted it back.

"I know you wanted to be alone, but I'm worried about you," Direct and to the point; that was what her friend preferred. She hoped it would be enough.

"There's no need. I'm fine," Trude said immediately, her tone painfully stoic to Minna's ears. This was the brunette's business voice.

"No, you're not. I've known you long enough to be able to tell when something is bothering you," She paused, weighing her options, before she decided on the next sentence. "It is time. We truly need to discuss this now."

Trude's frown only became more severe. "That will not be necessary."

"But it is!" Minna said, working hard to keep desperation from creeping into her voice. A commanding officer needed to stay composed, she reminded herself. "Don't do this, Trude. Please. Don't shut me out. You know you can tell me anything."

Trude remained silent, but the subtle rise in her shoulders said enough. Trude was digging in her heels, and the unspoken answer was obvious: _I don't want to._

It was expected, but it still stung. Trude rarely confided in anyone, and when she did, she only spoke of her feelings with a select few, Minna included. That Trude refused to open up to her now, even when there was no one else around, hurt Minna more than she wanted to show.

Yet she sighed and set that aside, filed away to be processed later. What she needed to do now was push ahead and get to the heart of the matter. Even if it meant forcing Trude out of her comfort zone, it had to be done.

"I know how difficult all of this has been," she said softly. "But things will get better—Chris will get better."

Trude went a little pale and became eerily still for a moment, with only her wavering eyes as a sign of inner turmoil. Minna's composure also faltered at the sight, but she remained insistent, observing her friend with bated breath. However, disappointment lanced through her when Trude simply looked away in the end.

"Just…forget it," It was an answer, at least.

"Why? The healers stabilized her," Minna kept her voice gentle, hoping to coax out more. "You remember, don't you? She's a strong girl; you and I both know she will recover. It's only a matter of time."

Trude shook her head. "There's no evidence she will."

Minna was silent for a long moment, turning over the words in her head before she spoke them. "I…I know there are no signs yet. I too assumed she would be awake when we arrived," She took a deep breath. "But she is still alive. All we can do now is hope. And we can do that together, can't we?"

"…Hope? That's it?"

Trude's voice was low, so quiet it would have gone unheard in a noisier room. She finally glanced back at Minna again, her eyes displaying…something. Minna was uncertain as to what it was. That threw her for a loop; Trude was usually so easy to read. Her guilt at forcing Trude into this conversation morphed into anxiety. She stepped closer, her hand aching to reach out, guided by an instinctual need to comfort her friend.

"There's no point in hope."

And Minna stopped, taken aback at the pain she heard in those words.

She remembered the last time Trude had sounded like that. It was only a few weeks prior. The brunette had seemed uncharacteristically small, her shoulders hunched instead of straight, and her eyes so distant it was as if she was in a different place altogether. Getting her to respond had been difficult.

" _I failed her."_

That statement, spoken so feebly, was something Minna would never forget. Trude hadn't shed a tear, as though she had none left after mourning her parents months before. She just stood there, listless, none of that trademark fight present. Destroyed by the war.

But she returned to normal after a few days, at least on the surface, and her performance was unchanged. Minna had hoped that Trude was recovering on her own, that they were both picking up the pieces as best they could, but that was not the case at all.

Trude was still broken.

Guilt squeezed Minna's heart like a vice, her mind spinning with all the ways she could have—should have—forced this sooner. How she had failed as a friend and as a commanding officer.

 _I should have known._

She wasn't sure what to do. How could she fix this? And would Trude even let her? All she could think of was to apologize; her mind was blanking on everything else. But Trude spoke before she could.

"We lost the mainland in five months. The Neuroi destroyed everything. They have us cornered," Trude grit her teeth. "We don't have time to sit around and wish for better days."

Minna suddenly found her voice. "It does matter! Without that…" She didn't want to think about it. As a commander, she knew the importance of morale. If that plummeted, people would lose the will to fight. It could only make things worse.

"We're at _war_ ," Trude countered, her stare hardening. "They're monsters. Nightmares! Don't you see?" Her tightly clenched fists trembled at her sides and her voice rose in volume. "They won't stop until they've killed every last one of us, so we need to do the same!" Trude was yelling now. "Nothing else matters!" She turned and gestured wildly at her equipment. "Only this does!"

Minna was speechless. She couldn't think. Trude's face was contorted in an angry snarl—anger that was also directed at _her_ —while her eyes were wide and unnaturally dark with bloodlust. She was shaking all over. Minna had never seen her like this before; try as she might, she struggled to accept this…this stranger…was her old friend.

Suddenly Trude stiffened, and her face reverted back to a rather awkward expression that Minna was much more familiar with. The brunette quickly snapped back into proper form, her gaze cautiously averted.

"My apologies, Wing Commander," Trude's business voice was back, all traces of anger gone, or perhaps masked. Minna honestly wasn't certain anymore. The Trude she thought she knew almost seemed like a relic of the past. "Such behavior is unbecoming of a soldier. I will accept any punishment you see fit."

The abrupt change in conduct knocked all the wind out of Minna's sails. Had the air always felt this stifling? Suddenly conflicted, she looked down and mulled over her options. Trude was pushing for a conclusion to this exchange, something Minna was wholeheartedly in opposition of. But upon observing her now impassive friend, she realized Trude's walls were back up. The moment had passed.

Perhaps it would be best to think of a strategy instead of continuing. It saddened her, but she would have to keep trying. Later.

"It's all right," she said haltingly. Looking Trude in the eyes had never felt more difficult. "Carry on."

Trude nodded and saluted. "Yes, ma'am."

She marched past Minna without so much as a glance in her direction. Minna turned and watched her walk away, overwhelmed by a profound sense of loss.

She'd always preferred being called by her first name, especially when off duty, something that hadn't changed even when she moved up in rank. Trude thought this to be incredibly peculiar when they first met, and it took Minna a fair amount of time and effort to convince her to go along with it.

Now she had been stripped of that honor. To hear one of her closest companions refer to her only by rank, not by name, was devastating. It made her feel like she was looked upon as a soldier, a mere colleague and not a dear friend. Just like that, Trude felt farther away than ever before. Would Minna ever get through to her again? And even if she did, would there be anything left of the person she once knew?

" _There's no point in hope."_

As Minna watched brown twin tails disappear around the corner, she could only pray the hope Trude so desperately needed would come soon.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Man, this chapter gave me hell. It changed every time I tried to write it, and it kept straying in all kinds of directions! I'm happy to finally see it finished.

Obviously some parts of this chapter conflict slightly with what Minna said in her CD interview, since I made her more aware of Gertrud's internal struggle. Still, I believe having Minna know something is seriously wrong, while at the same time making her unable to help, fits her "I should have done more" point of view quite well.

The meeting that was mentioned early on in this chapter is based on Track 05 of the Himebana 1 Drama CD. I never actually got to listen to the audio, so my version could differ in execution or intent.


	2. Chapter 2

It's been too long. On the upside, I'm certain the next chapter won't take this long to produce. Sort of. Yeah. Ahem.

In all seriousness, it took me a while to nail down the direction for this one. I won't have that issue in future chapters.

You'll notice the name 'Trude' is replaced by 'Gertrud' here, aside from dialogue. This isn't an oversight; considering all the different ways you could name the cast of _Strike Witches_ in writing, it can be tough to get something consistent going that still sounds good.

Personally I like using the names the narrator would prefer. This is especially true for smaller-scale stories like these, where I'm not expecting a lot of different points of view. Gertrud would never think of herself as 'Trude' so that's why I use her full name instead.

* * *

 _August 25, 1944_

Gertrud watched Miyafuji trudge into her quarters, both of them silent. Once the forlorn girl was fully inside, she shut the door and attached the padlock. The key was turned and the lock secured, ensuring the room's inhabitant wouldn't run off on some fool's errand again.

"Listen, Sergeant Miyafuji," she said, her voice hard as steel. "You are prohibited from leaving except when necessary." Hearing no defiance from inside, Gertrud walked away.

As soon as she was far enough down the corridor, she sighed.

She liked Miyafuji; locking her up didn't provide her with any sort of gratification. But the girl had no one but herself to blame. Had her crimes not been so severe, Gertrud had no doubt Minna would have imposed a lesser punishment—and Gertrud might have agreed. But as it stood the girl disobeyed orders, refused to fire during battle, and thus allowed a fellow soldier and superior officer to sustain grievous injuries. A less compassionate commanding officer would have court-martialed her for certain.

Indeed, Minna's forgiving nature was a matter of course. Other recent events, however, were not. Minna had been displaying some strange behavior as of late: anger, tears, a loss of composure, with today's incident only exacerbating the issue. All highly anomalous and worthy of further enquiry.

So instead of retiring to her own quarters, Gertrud headed to the administrative wing in search of her friend. She hadn't seen Minna since Miyafuji's sentencing hours ago. Busy as she was with keeping the rest of the Wing in line, she hadn't had a chance to check up on the Wing Commander until now. She knew the woman hadn't turned in early—it wasn't in her nature, and she would have told them if she had—so it stood to reason she was still engrossed in her work.

She turned the corner and immediately spotted light, coming not from the hallway's lamps but from under the door to Minna's office. She shook her head at the view, her suspicions neatly confirmed.

"Honestly…"

While working late was necessary on occasion, she knew recent events were putting a strain on all of them. They needed rest. Additionally, with Sakamoto incapacitated for the foreseeable future, Minna should know better than to work late into the night when she would be saddled with additional responsibilities the next day. It was Gertrud's duty as both adjutant and friend to make this clear.

She rapped her knuckles on the door twice in quick succession. It took longer than usual before she heard an answer.

"Who is it?" Minna's voice was dampened by the thickness of the door.

 _She didn't recognize my knock?_ And Minna asking for identification was unusual, as well. "Flight Lieutenant Barkhorn, ma'am."

"Oh!" There were a few unidentifiable sounds and then Minna's soft voice came again. "Come in."

When she entered the room, her eyes were instantly drawn to the view behind Minna's desk. Usually the curtains would be closed in the evening so as to keep out the cold, but now they were open, revealing the large window beyond. The view of the Britannian Channel was a mix of dark blues and blacks, introducing darkness to the room which seemed unlike its inhabitant.

Minna looked up at her from the other side of the desk, her hands settled in a neat fold upon the lacquered mahogany.

"Trude," she said warmly, skipping formalities as usual. "What a surprise to see you up."

Approaching her countryman, Gertrud gave her a brisk nod. "I just finished locking up Miyafuji's room for the night." She frowned a little. "Hopefully this is the last stunt she pulls. We're lucky the two of them even survived."

It was indeed good fortune that neither of them fell. The 501st was quite large for a Joint Fighter Wing, but lately she was starting to appreciate how vital all of them were to their mission. Losing even one team member would be disastrous, let alone two.

"Yes." Minna's voice was a little distant.

Gertrud studied her downcast face, finding the hint of fatigue she was expecting. Minna didn't look as sharp and perceptive as she usually did. That, too, was a recent abnormality.

"…You're too tired to be working, Minna." She added the name for emphasis and scanned the desk, analyzing what still needed to be done. It seemed messier than normal.

She heard Minna chuckle. "Of course you would notice. It's true; I am a tad worn out. Those reports don't write themselves, particularly this kind. …Trude? What is it?"

Gertrud's gaze was locked on a collection of files on the desk, specifically the stack of paperwork haphazardly hidden under a binder. It was obviously unfinished.

She looked Minna in the eye. "You're having trouble."

It was neither a question nor an accusation, merely an observation, but it was enough. Minna's expression became uneasy, all vestiges of drowsiness swept away. Her hand came up to brush some stray locks behind her ear; a nervous tic Gertrud recognized from long ago.

"No, no," Minna said, but her gaze wandered while doing so, something that did not go unnoticed. "It's merely a…delay. Today's events caused a surprising increase in work load, and…" She trailed off.

"You could have requested my assistance if that was the case. But I doubt you needed to. We both know you can handle more than this." She'd seen Minna process desk work with a speed and efficiency few soldiers could match. It always impressed Gertrud, and she was rather proficient herself.

"I, well…" Minna just stared back, apparently caught flat-footed.

Gertrud sized her up, unnerved by how easy that was. Minna could talk rings around nearly anyone, but it was almost as if all her usual acuity was just…gone. Although not needed, it was the final confirmation there was something seriously wrong.

She leaned forward, positioning the flat of her palms on the desk.

"You haven't been yourself recently."

Minna looked down. For a moment she said nothing, seemingly content to eye the worn green carpet under their boots, but eventually she spoke.

"I know," she said, and let out a tired sigh. "I…I don't know what came over me. I just felt so…angry, I suppose." Her face was drawn with guilt and something Gertrud couldn't identify. "I clearly wasn't myself. I will apologize to Miyafuji in the morning, I promise."

"That's not what I meant." _You should know that._ "I realize this is not my strong suit, but I know you well enough to recognize you are under a great deal of stress." She gave Minna the best beseeching look she could. "I'm asking you this as a friend, Minna. If something is bothering you, you should tell someone." An unpleasant memory came to mind. "You can tell me, if you want. I'm here now and I am not leaving."

She had deserved that slap. Miyafuji's words renewed her hope, but it was Minna's reaction after the battle that truly made her realize how irresponsible she had been. The sting on her cheek had been nothing compared to the flood of reprimands coming from Minna's mouth, her voice so distressed it edged into furious. Gertrud vividly remembered the fear it suddenly inspired in her, the way her mind seized on a singular thought:

Had they been friends for five years, or only two?

When she saw the tears in Minna's eyes and felt an arm around her shoulders, she knew it was the former.

She felt relief then, amazement even, that Minna was giving her a second chance, but what lingered now was guilt. She wasn't the only one suffering from the war; her friends needed her, and she pushed them away. Fortunately Sakamoto took up the role of support during that time—something Gertrud was incredibly thankful for—but with the Squadron Leader injured, she felt more pressed than ever to atone for her mistakes.

"You told me to come to you if something was troubling me." It was a promise easily made. "So now I want you to do the same. Please."

Minna's eyes flickered in uncertainty, but something in her body language told Gertrud she agreed. Perhaps it was the sudden look of resignation on her face, or the way she walked over to the window and left some room at her side, a wordless invitation.

Once Gertrud was beside her, Minna's posture sagged. The redhead drew a shaky breath and wrapped her arms around herself, her gaze focused on some indiscriminate point across the Britannian Channel. Gertrud didn't have to guess what she was seeing; fire, not water, oft marked their thoughts. It wasn't long before Minna spoke, her voice quiet.

"Have you ever considered me...inadequate as a commanding officer?"

It took Gertrud a moment to respond, the question was that unexpected. "No, never."

Minna's face was unreadable. "At times, I feel like I am. Today was a particularly poor example of what a commanding officer should be." Her shoulders drooped just slightly. "A leader should stay composed at all times. I can only imagine what the others think of me now. I'm certain some of them will have noticed."

Gertrud regarded her thoughtfully. "A wise woman once told me it was healthy to work through your emotions. She said it was better to release them instead of letting them fester."

"But I am—"

"Human."

The look Minna gave her was one of astonishment. Still, her lips twitched marginally upward.

"You listened."

Gertrud huffed, feeling better at seeing the normal Minna emerge, even if it was only a sliver.

"Of course. I take your advice very seriously, as you know." It was almost embarrassing to admit, but she was giving Minna's words a lot of thought in her free time. She considered it one of the ways she could become a better person.

This time Minna did smile for a moment; it was still subdued, but it was something.

"I will follow your example, then," she said solemnly. Her gaze returning to the window, she reached up to fidget with her hair again.

"Sometimes, I can't help but recall everything that has happened, as well as the many battles yet to come. There is no telling how many more years the war will last.

"When I think of our future as nothing but more fighting, it becomes difficult to stay hopeful. At times, when the situation turns particularly trying, I find myself seeing no future. And I wanted—needed—to keep that to myself."

Gertrud nodded in understanding. "You didn't want the Wing to know."

"Witches such as you and I have already seen so much. I…I want them to retain their innocence in this war. For them to remain optimistic for as long as possible. These thoughts are my burden to bear."

"But there are others you can share that burden with. You have me, and you have Erica. I'm sure Squadron Leader Sakamoto would listen as well." Minna's expression twitched with pain, giving Gertrud pause. "You know, Miyafuji did a wonderful job healing her. Have you visited her yet?"

"I have." The words were clipped with frustration, and Minna looked down. "I just wish I would never have cause to visit such a place ever again."

 _I could do without it as well._ "She won't be in there for long."

"I know. But when she was injured, I felt so…it was too much, Trude. It was terrible. For a moment I thought…" Their eyes met; Gertrud was caught off-guard by the desperation in Minna's expression. "I want this war to end. I want things to go back to the way they once were. …I don't want to"—her voice broke—"lose anyone else."

The worry roiling in Gertrud's body escalated into alarm when Minna's breath hitched and her body started trembling. Tears sprang forth in a sudden torrent, streaking down Minna's dismayed face in unending rivulets. She rubbed at her eyes, her movements frantic, but as the tears kept coming she seemed to give in. Shrinking into herself, she buried her face in her shaking hands just before a muffled sob slipped out.

For a short time Gertrud could only watch, wide-eyed and speechless at seeing her friend so undone. Hesitantly, she touched Minna's quivering shoulder. When this produced no adverse reaction, she wrapped her arm around Minna's frame and pulled her in closer, nestling the slightly taller woman into her side.

Minna turned into her at the touch and before Gertrud could fully comprehend what was happening, hands had already secured a tight grip on the front of her uniform and Minna's head was buried into the crook of her neck. She jolted at the unexpected contact, but stilled when she felt warm tears wetting her shoulder. Her free hand settled on Minna's back in an awkward embrace.

The notion to speak some words of comfort came to mind, but she could think of precious few, and none of them felt sufficient. In the end she settled on silence.

"I miss him," Minna cried, hiccupping into Gertrud's uniform. "I miss him so much!"

Gertrud's arms almost turned limp as the grief and fear in those words hit her, and suddenly every instance of Minna losing control made perfect sense.

She hadn't known Kurt well; he was Minna's childhood friend, her first love, and appeared to be a kind, upstanding young man. He surely had to be for Minna to love him so deeply, so completely that she still wept for him three years later.

Gertrud was only just starting to understand how it felt to face her personal losses, but she knew it hurt far more than she ever expected. She couldn't even begin to imagine how much it was affecting someone as kind and sensitive as Minna, whose fondness for her comrades was her greatest weakness as well as the source of her strength; who gave freely of her heart because she knew the love would help those around her; who encouraged her subordinates to grow not as soldiers, but as people.

She was their guardian in more ways than one.

A thought struck Gertrud, literally so; she could feel its bite in her chest, a hot lance of regret spearing her far underneath the skin.

Minna was their guardian, but who looked after her in return? Who protected her gentle heart from the strife of war? Who ensured she had the time and space to be more than her rank?

None of them did.

Gertrud's brow furrowed with determination.

Once upon a time, she considered Minna's eagerness to forge personal bonds to be too close for comfort. She was unnerved by Minna's proficiency in lowering her guard. Often she questioned whether Minna's disregard of conventional unit hierarchy wasn't going too far.

But that was the old Gertrud. The new her preferred it this way.

They were friends—no, they were family. There was a proverb in Karlsland that blood was thicker than water, but whatever connected them was something more important than blood could ever be. It made her feel protective. She wanted to return the unconditional support so generously given, to be there for Minna in the same way Minna was there for her. And she would never desert her again.

So as the trembling in Minna's body gradually subsided, and Gertrud realized she'd been stroking her back without a conscious decision to do, she couldn't help the briefest of smiles before she loosened her hold. This was an oath she would have no trouble fulfilling.

Minna stirred and held still for a moment before she pulled back, eyes wide, looking as shocked as Gertrud felt previously.

"I…I'm so sorry." Rubbing at her puffy eyes cleared any remaining tears, but some faint red splotches on her skin remained. "I can't believe I just did that! What a mess I must look to you now."

"I disagree." Gertrud's voice was firm. "You are not a 'mess', Minna. Crying is normal when you're in the process of mourning."

"Yes, but…three years is a long time to grieve. I should have moved on."

She studied Minna for a long moment, ruminating on those words.

"I may not be knowledgeable on this subject," she finally said, "but this feels like progress to me. I don't think we've ever discussed this before."

"…I suppose so. And I do feel better." Minna sighed. "I just wonder how much time will pass before the past becomes easier to bear."

"We'll find out. Together, one step at a time. Remember?"

"I do remember." Minna finally laughed; the sound was so very welcome to Gertrud's ears. "When I gave you that speech, I never imagined it would be used like this."

"Neither did I." Gertrud stared at her intently. "Promise me you won't keep all of this inside again."

The assent in Minna's eyes was reassuring.

"I promise. In the next instance it gets to be too much, I will seek out a listening ear. Speaking of which…" Her expression softened. "I enjoyed this. It's so wonderful to have the opportunity to chat like we used to. I know our schedules are busy at the moment, but I would love it if we could do this more often."

Gertrud nodded without hesitation. "Of course, whenever you want."

Minna's smile was warm enough to brighten up the room, but the quick hug she gave Gertrud felt even better.

"Thank you so much." Her voice was full of emotion as she let go. "I can't tell you how much this means to me."

"That's what family is for." This was only the second time she used that word for someone not related by blood, and it still surprised her how easy it was. She put a hand on Minna's arm. "Now, come with me."

Minna hesitated. "Are you certain?" She looked back at her desk. "I should…"

"We will get it done tomorrow," she said with a tone of finality. "Don't tell Erica I ever said this, but leave your work for now."

Minna let out a gasp, the exaggerated sound and her playful face crafting a teasing image that was impossible to miss.

"What's this? Gertrud Barkhorn, soldier of Karlsland, telling her commanding officer to neglect her duties? Perhaps my guidance is a bad influence on you!"

Gertrud couldn't help a chuckle at Minna's dramatic tone of voice. "Come on." She steered the two of them outside.

Minna giggled, but she relented. "Where are we going?" she asked, locking the door.

"To the mess hall." Her eyebrow was raised, the look she shot Minna half exasperation and half forgiveness. "You missed dinner."

She'd made certain Minna's meal was left untouched, and she wasn't going anywhere until it was finished.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Minna is a seriously strong woman. She has to deal with a lot and handles it all with utmost grace. Eventually she does snap, but she manages to regain herself and overcomes her issues with barely any help from the others.

This is admirable, but due to her personality and her rank, it can leave her in the lurch when it comes to her emotional well-being. I just feel like she needs a little love, romantic or platonic, to really feel at her best. Some personal 'me-time' helps too.

So I think that's what I wanted to do most in this chapter. I wanted Minna to finally take rather than just give, but without detracting from her inner strength. Fortunately this also coincides well with Trude's strong sense of loyalty.

Trude asking Minna if she's visited Mio is meant to mirror episode 4, where Minna points out Trude hasn't visited Chris both cases the question is asked to make the recipient feel better, and in both cases it kind of backfires.


	3. Chapter 3

So Strike Witches: Road to Berlin was announced! I hope every fan was as ecstatic as I was!

This chapter marks the story's departure from the (current) series timeline. The timestamps will be more relevant from here on out.

The use of a cartridge early on in this chapter is lifted from one of the Strike Witches manga, specifically the one about the Isle of Wight detachment. I never took much interest in the other squadrons, but that particular image always stuck with me. Wilma used a coin, but I assume this works much the same way.

I also meant for this story to have viewpoints alternating for each chapter, but doofus me had a great idea for Chapter 4 ages ago and wrote the whole thing from Minna's point of view. So, to keep true to the original flow of things, this chapter has both POVs incorporated. Funnily enough, it worked out better this way, though it became rather long.

* * *

 _April 6, 1946_

It was almost 0630 hours, fifteen minutes before the night patrol ended. But although many of the Witches stationed here were still asleep, St. Trond's hangar was already abuzz with the peal of magic and the whirring of propellers. Inside, two Witches were in their Striker Units, bodies alight with a blue hue; they looked ready to take off at any moment, were it not for the launch units holding them in place. Their brows were furrowed with the utmost of focus.

A small magical shield rotated over their upturned palms. In the very middle sat an 8x57mm Mauser cartridge, the tip trembling against the translucent blue surface, but holding steady. A few moments later the glow died down, and murky grey set the tone once more. Minna looked down at her hand, rolling the cartridge between her fingers.

"Another successful test," she mused, already cataloguing the results she would need to jot down. There was no reply, so she glanced to her left in silent query.

Trude's eyes flicked to her, then back to her own palm. "Yes, everything's fine on my end at the moment."

 _At the moment._ Those words loomed over them in a manner far more ominous and terrifying than a Neuroi ever could.

They dismounted their Strikers and Minna made her way to the nearby supply crates, depositing the Mausers in their rightful place. The crates were delivered the day before, bearing the usual shipment of ammunition and armaments, a boon to any fighting Witch. Unfortunately, Minna knew no amount of bullets would save them from that which they dreaded most.

She turned and saw Trude lingering in front of her Striker. Her fingers were tracing the metal frame with a finesse that suggested contemplation. Minna approached her and placed an empathetic hand on her shoulder.

"It's getting worse." Trude's anxiety was palpable.

"Indeed. Our capacity is beginning to decrease at a quicker rate."

At least it seemed to be a steady process rather than a sharp drop in performance. Minna was thankful for this, as that made it easier for the two of them to monitor their magical output every week. Unlike Mio, they wouldn't be caught off-guard by shield failure during a sortie. It was just a shame they couldn't hope for anything more.

A bugle sounded all around the base. In this moment, it felt akin to a tolling bell rather than a wakeup call. A morbid notion, but one not easily shaken.

Trude touched her Striker a moment longer. Then she stepped back and gave Minna her full attention.

"Let's go," she said.

Minna wished she couldn't hear the grim undertone to her friend's voice, if only to convince herself they weren't both troubled.

* * *

It wasn't fair.

An immature sentiment to be sure, but in low moments such as these, when the betrayal of her declining magic was at the forefront of her thoughts, such feelings seemed to come all too easily to Gertrud. Scowling, she filed away the report with less care than usual.

The logical part of her knew magical deterioration was inevitable, a fact of life. All Witches were at their prime at the age of sixteen or thereabouts, but in the following years, a Witch's magic gradually weakened. This was exacerbated by the strain of war and the high magic consumption inherent to Doctor Miyafuji's Striker Units. Now most Witches were unfit for action at the age of twenty, their magic never gone, but never able to reach the heights of the past.

For the longest time, it felt like she was escaping that fate. Her magic was strong and her reserves large. But then March rolled around, and the 11th and 20th passed in a flash. It was a turning point, the end of their peak. Now, a mere month later, she could feel retirement nipping at her heels, inescapable and always on her mind.

"…ude…Trude!"

She startled at the sudden voice and snapped her gaze to the source. Erica was at her side, bent down to look her in the eye from where she was standing.

"What is it?" And why was she here? Normally, she avoided the base archives like the plague.

Erica set down a cup of coffee. "Thought you could use one of these."

"Oh." Gertrud blinked. "Thank you."

"No problem."

Erica plopped down on the chair next to her, sprawling out in a lazy manner. Gertrud shook her head at the familiar sight, but opted not to comment; there were more important tasks to carry out, and as long as Erica kept herself in line, Gertrud could enjoy the companionship while she worked. She began studying the next document to be sorted when Erica spoke up again.

"So what's up?"

"Hm? Nothing's 'up', Hartmann." She took a sip of her coffee. Heat and bitterness rolled over her tongue, always a pleasant sensation for some reason. The promise of caffeine was a likely contributor.

"Really?" Erica sounded incredibly skeptical. "You know, you were glaring at that report like it was offending Karlsland or something."

One of Gertrud's brows inched upward, though she continued reading all the same. "That's a preposterous metaphor. Paper doesn't speak."

Erica let out a short whine. "That's not the point!"

There was a scrape along the floorboards. Gertrud looked up to see Erica closer than before, perched on her chair the wrong way around, with her hands folded on the back and her chin resting on top. Her eyes were full of determination, a rare occurrence in a place she often described as 'boring' and 'stuffy.' That certainly piqued Gertrud's interest, enough to tear her attention away from her work.

"The point is, you and Minna were looking down all day. I know you said it went fine, but…"

The document slipped from Gertrud's hands. She stared back at Erica's irate expression, a knot forming in her abdomen at the meaning behind Erica's words.

 _She noticed. I should've known._ "It did go well. The test was successful."

"Yeah, but it's kind of hard to believe that when you act like this after."

She wasn't sure how to respond to that.

Apparently Erica took the silence as a denial, because she slumped in her chair. "Fine. If you don't wanna tell me, that's your call."

Gertrud turned in her chair. "You think I'm keeping this from you. Keeping you out," she realized out loud.

Erica threw up her hands. "It crossed my mind!"

She grimaced. _I deserved that one._ "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

Erica huffed. "Apology accepted, but you still need to spill. I asked Minna, but she didn't want to tell me anything about your results. Said it was personal."

Gertrud's next words were reluctant. "Our magic is weakening. At this rate…" She couldn't bring herself to say it.

Erica's shoulders sagged. "So the same as Minna. I had a hunch, but I didn't expect… Already?"

"Yes."

"How soon?"

Gertrud's gaze flickered away for the briefest of moments. "Not much longer."

Erica's eyes turned downcast. For a long moment, neither of them said anything, and Gertrud was starting to wonder if she should return to her work when Erica sucked in a breath.

"What's it feel like?"

Gertrud's expression darkened with unpleasant memories. Fatigue creeping up on her near the end of a sortie. Her shield straining under the pressure of a Neuroi beam, the drain on her reserves hungrier than before. Nursing a strong cup of coffee the morning after a trying battle, urging her magic to replenish faster.

"Terrible." It was the only word she could find.

Erica winced. "Yeah, guess so… It's going to be fine though, you know that right?"

She found that hard to believe. Her work as a Witch was at the center of her life; she didn't feel ready to leave active duty. She probably never would be.

"Trude."

Erica shot her a smile. It wasn't her usual carefree grin, or the small, contented one she had whenever she was enjoying a meal. This one was tender. Caring. "We're going to take back Karlsland. I know you wanted to be there, but it's still going to happen. You can count on us."

It took her a moment, but Gertrud found herself somewhat returning that smile. "I know." After all, there was no finer Witch in the air than the Black Devil herself. It would be prudent to tell her as much soon.

* * *

At times, Minna wondered if every goodbye felt like this. Surreal. Nostalgic. Heartbreaking.

Her eyes roved the mess hall for what felt like the fifteenth time that day. Perhaps it was, and if so she didn't care. After all, time was running out.

When it came to her loss in flying ability, she wasn't incredibly affected. Her tenure as a soldier was nearing its limit; it was time for veterans like her to make way for a new generation of Witches. And the 501st, her girls, they would continue the fight. She had no qualms about leaving matters in their hands.

No, what truly made her heart twinge with longing was not her involvement in the air, but everything on ground level.

"Oh come on!" At the other end of the table, she heard Francesca grumble in protest and quickly held back a laugh. Even at the age of fourteen and a half, the little Romagnan was still a whirlwind of energy, unfiltered and unrestrained in every aspect.

"I'm pretty sure you already had seconds," was Shirley's easygoing reply, ever the patient guardian to their youngest member.

"But…but…I'm a growing girl! Besides, we're the ones who made it." The pout in Francesca's voice was clear as day.

Shirley laughed. "I know champ, but sharing is caring. Now, let's finish up so we can get back to tinkering with that engine."

"Ooh, right!"

Nearby, Perrine shook her head. "That girl, always so vigorous. I wonder how she manages it." Her expression was neutral, but the words were spoken fondly.

"It's nice, though," Lynne said from beside Perrine. "I wish I could have that kind of exuberance." Then she giggled. "But that would probably be too much for me."

Occasionally, Minna was still struck by everyone's growth. Shirley, once a thrill-seeker, now a responsible senior figure for the squadron. Francesca, the wild and errant youth, finding new focus in following Shirley's example. Perrine, her cold exterior and acerbic tongue tempered by experience and compassion.

And then there was Lynne. Once she was their greenest recruit: bashful, jittery and already cracking under the pressure. Now, she was a confident addition to any engagement. Every day she continued to prove herself as a future commander, although Minna hadn't said anything of the sort yet.

Perrine took a sip of her water. "I agree; one Francesca is all we need. But, I daresay she's improved immensely." She studied the strands of spaghetti on her fork with a critiquing eye. "And the same goes for her pasta. It's even all…what was it again, Miyafuji?"

"Al dente," Yoshika answered from the seat across, eyes fixated on her plate.

"Ah, yes. Well, it is delicious."

A quiet hum of approval drew Minna's attention to Sanya. The Night Witch was eating her dinner with her usual reserved expression, but she was obviously enjoying Francesca and Shirley's creation. Next to her sat Heidemarie and Eila, the former deep in thought, and the latter looking rather peaceful, enjoying the harmony.

Their night patrols were progressing smoothly. Thanks to a Night Witch radio network Sanya and Heidemarie had set up, there were little to no integration issues for their shifts. And on a social level, the group was quick to accept Heidemarie as one of their own. Eila was trying her best to get along with everyone as well, and Sanya, initially the 'ghost' of the unit, was becoming more outspoken, though she was still a person of few words. A good quality in this group, as far as Minna was concerned.

"I wonder which herbs they used in this sauce," Yoshika continued, tasting the red liquid again. "Garlic and oregano for sure, but something's different this time."

Of course, she could have simply asked Shirley or Francesca at any time, but she was too stubborn and curious to do so, and everyone let her carry on. It had become something of a tradition at the dinner table.

"It could be the rosemary," Perrine said. "It's an aromatic herb that we occasionally add to our salads back home."

Yoshika's face lit up. "That's it! Lynne, do you think we could use this in that other recipe?"

"The muffins? Maybe, but we'd have to balance out the strong flavor with…"

As their two resident gourmets commenced the latest in a string of recipe discussions, Minna simply watched, at ease with the sight. She knew it was as much of a relief to her friends as it was to her; that even with the burden of war, Yoshika never lost her purity of spirit, and wore her heart on her sleeve for all to see.

Nevertheless, Erica groaned from across the table. "They're at it again. Why do those two always have to turn food into a science?" She scooped up another forkful of spaghetti, visibly relishing in her next bite. "If it tastes good then who cares," she said around a mouthful of food.

Trude's reprimand arrived like clockwork. "Don't speak with your mouth full, Hartmann! And don't allow yourself to be distracted. A meal's purpose is sustenance. You'll need the energy for those drills tomorrow."

Mio's proud guffaw resounded for everyone to hear, most of all in Minna's adjacent ear. "Exactly! Eat well today so we can train hard tomorrow. That's a soldier's creed!" she boomed.

Trude nodded in agreement. Erica just groaned again and turned away, opting to chat to their night patrol instead.

Minna didn't suppress her laugh this time. While some of the Witches under her command had visibly changed, others were still much the same. Truly, she wouldn't have it any other way.

Dinner wound down soon afterward. In no time at all the table was cleared, and their usual evening routines resumed. Shirley and Francesca went to the hangar; Yoshika and Lynne volunteered to wash up; Perrine retired to the common room to read a book; Mio headed outside to train; Trude left to take a stroll; and Erica disappeared into the halls with Sanya, Eila and Heidemarie, accompanying them until they left for their shift.

Minna watched them all leave, that wistful feeling returning once again. This Wing, her squadron, was far more to her than that. These girls were family, and the mere idea of leaving them tore at her heart. She yearned to stay, to share in every adventure and hardship and triumph, but she knew she couldn't. That was Mio's path, one Minna would never follow. That was why she wished to savor what little time she had.

Observing the emptying room, an idea—a wonderfully mundane desire—came to mind. It would be her turn to cook soon. Perhaps she could make it a special meal this time. Her salary could cover the extra costs.

* * *

It was two days later when, busying herself with that same evening routine, Gertrud saw a glint in the woodline surrounding the base. She immediately knew it to be a flash of metal, confirmed when she spotted Squadron Leader Sakamoto's white Fuso Imperial Navy jacket among the trees.

This wasn't the first time she witnessed Sakamoto practicing her swordsmanship. The easiest way for Gertrud to unwind and clear her head was through exercise, so she'd made a habit of patrolling the base at the end of her shift. Sakamoto likewise preferred to end her day with something productive, and so Gertrud would often spot her when she was making her rounds.

She never stuck around to watch, unwilling to intrude, but the display would always make her pause. Every Witch knew of Sakamoto to some extent; she was, after all, one of the first Witches to have flown a prototype Striker. Many idolized her as a hero and a role model. To Gertrud, she was the perfect image of a soldier and a Witch, someone she greatly respected and was honored to work with.

That was one reason why only a few years ago, she would have considered following in the footsteps of legends like Sakamoto and Rudel: to fight the Neuroi with everything she had left, no matter the cost. But every time such old thoughts cropped up, the more she remembered that day when a fatal injury left her lung filling with blood, and the naive girl she'd pushed to go home saved her life. In the aftermath she swore an oath: that there was more to her life than war, that she was more than a soldier, and that she would never allow either of them to consume her again.

So as she continued her rounds, Sakamoto's receding shape still dancing from one form into the next, Gertrud wondered about her own choices. How could she best serve her country? What direction could she take her career in? What would she do once the Neuroi were defeated, her homeland was reclaimed and she and Chris had time to be a family again?

The rest of her patrol was spent absorbed in those thoughts; they only stilled when she arrived back at the hangar, and conversation at the far end drew her eyes. Lounging there were Shirley and Lucchini, their backs propped up against the wall. They were speaking to one another in their usual animated manner, and didn't seem to be working on anything. As Gertrud approached, the sound of her footsteps caught their attention.

Shirley gave her a small wave. "Hey Trude."

"Hiya Barkhorn," Lucchini said.

Gertrud nodded in greeting. "I thought you were working on that truck tonight." They both exuded the smell of motor oil, so surely they had.

"Nah, we're already done fixing it," Shirley said. "Franca's a whiz! She's a fast learner for sure." She shot the young girl a proud smile.

Lucchini's smirk was smug and full of teeth. "Hehe, it was nothing. I'm just happy I'll be able to fix stuff when I get home."

This prompted surprise on Gertrud's end. "That's why you asked for lessons?" She'd thought it a spur-of-the-moment decision.

"Yeah, Shirley fixed our tractor when we visited Mama. I wanna help out as much as I can, so I asked her to teach me."

Gertrud regarded the rambunctious little girl with a small amount of wonder, wondering when Lucchini started growing up. "That's an admirable goal."

"What about you?" Shirley's question was light, but Gertrud noted the scrutiny in her eyes. "Any plans for the future?"

She considered her answer carefully. "I don't know yet."

"Well, don't overthink it, okay?"

Gertrud frowned. "It merits thought by definition."

Lucchini stretched, using her arms as a pillow as she leaned back. "Yeah, but you worry too much. We can all tell, y'know. You and Minna keep walking around looking like this!" She smooshed her cheeks between her hands and pulled them down, creating a rather unflattering impression of whatever she intended to reproduce.

Shirley snorted, holding in laughter. "What she means is, you two've been brooding."

Lucchini let go of her face and shrugged. "That's what I said."

Gertrud shook her head. "I'm not 'brooding', I'm thinking."

"If you say so."

"As you know," Gertrud began matter-of-factly, "there are several fields where the military can utilize my experience, but it remains to be seen where I can be of the most use. Contemplating such things is far from 'brooding'."

Shirley tilted her head. "Huh. That's what you're thinking about? Where you can be useful?"

"Of course. As a soldier of Karlsland, it is my duty to lend my expertise as best I can."

"I get that, but…shouldn't you think about yourself, too?" The concern in Shirley's voice was equal parts unexpected and confusing.

"I don't follow."

"Well, sounds to me like you're fixated on what kind of work you _should_ do." Shirley brushed an errant lock of hair out of her eyes. "But what about the things you _want_ to do? Isn't that equally important?"

"What I want…?"

Gertrud's gaze became pensive. She wanted to object, she truly did. When it came to her work, serving her country was all that mattered. Mingling it with personal wants felt like dereliction of duty, and that was certainly not something she intended do. But for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to refute it.

"I'll think about it."

Occasionally it was better to listen and learn, she reminded herself.

* * *

There was a small drawer in Minna's private writing desk that was dearer to her heart than any other.

For a long time, she had used such a compartment as a place of memory. In it she enshrined the past: old pictures of her hometown, accounts of everyday life, activities undertaken as a little girl. At the very bottom lied pictures of him. Back then the drawer remained closed, locked in all but name. Memories preserved, but never revisited.

Later, when she felt she'd spent quite enough time wallowing in her misery, she attempted to unlock those memories and face them fully, as she knew she should. But she failed in her efforts time and again. In the end she couldn't bring herself to do it, unable to bear his amiable smile and gentle eyes. The wound was too fresh, the hole too great.

Then, once she was at last capable of healing, the place of memory became a place of love. His pictures were placed in clear view, a mirror to the painful clarity in her soul. They were soon joined by newer, equally important things: photographs of her friends, newspaper clippings of their accomplishments, and letters from her parents, which they exchanged on a monthly basis.

She was finishing up her next letter to them when there was a knock at her door.

"Come in."

Mio entered, a pleasant countenance defining her features. "Good evening."

"Mio! Good evening." Minna returned the expression in full force, always happy to see her even-tempered senior. She set her stationery aside and stood, eyeing the newspaper tucked under Mio's arm. "Is that it?"

Mio nodded, handing it over. "They turned it into quite the phenomenon."

"Of course they did," she said dryly, setting the paper aside to be read later. For now, she had a more pressing matter on her mind. "It's been some time. How are you holding up?"

"Good. I'm honored to be working with the 501st again." A careful and measured reply; dignified, professional and concise. But it wasn't Mio. Not completely.

"I wish you could fly again, I truly do." Her voice overflowed with sympathy. Retirement was a somber occasion for any Witch, but especially for those like Mio, who lived and breathed the military.

Mio shook her head, her eyes clearly mournful. "So do I, but all Witches must cease active duty someday. It was merely…my time. For now, I'm satisfied with my place here. One of the twelve, aiding you to the best of my abilities." Her stance became proud. "As long as I can be of service on the front lines, I feel like I am contributing. Even if it's out of a control room."

"And rest assured, all of us are grateful. It's wonderful to know you still have our backs."

"Indeed." Mio's gaze wavered. "Although…I must admit to doing more than merely watching the radar."

"I know." Minna tapped her temple when Mio's expression turned to puzzlement. "Space Understanding."

Her magical ability wasn't permanently enabled, but it was never entirely 'off' either. She hadn't even meant to keep tabs on Mio in such a manner; it merely took her no effort to pick up on things, like how Mio's training sessions were becoming longer, and how they focused on more than swordplay alone.

"Ah." Mio chuckled. "I don't know why I'm surprised. So you don't mind?"

"Not at all. As long as you keep your word." Minna said it in a friendly manner, but they both knew her words brooked no argument. "Keep yourself safe, and you can train as much as you want."

Mio would _not_ fly into combat again the way she was now. The last time she'd done such a thing, she'd joined them in their fight to find Yoshika and retain their hold on western Europe, armed with nothing but a biplane. Minna had barely believed her own eyes at that moment. It was a miracle Mio emerged unscathed.

"No worries," Mio said. "I'm sure you remember how unhappy the higher-ups were."

Minna certainly did. The Fuso Imperial Navy had all but suffered a heart attack when they learned one of their national heroes, arguably their number one poster soldier for the Witch recruitment effort, had charged into a Neuroi-infested warzone with no magic to protect her. Had she perished, the 501st and all of Fuso would have been plunged into grief.

"I don't know what was more intimidating," Mio said, mirth livening up her words. "The fury of my superiors, or the way you told me this was definitely the last time."

Well, Minna didn't regret anything, although part of her wished Mio wouldn't find her anger so amusing.

"But, if I do find a way to fight safely again…" Mio trailed off.

"I won't stop you." Her reply was immediate and absolute. "You have the right, and the wisdom. But don't you dare die on us."

"I won't." Like everything Mio said, the words were pure and their message genuine. There was no need for worry. "Now." She turned and headed for the door. "It's about time I headed back. I'll be in the shower if you need me."

"Of course," Minna said. "Sleep well."

Mio gave her a crisp nod. "Good night." The door clicked shut, and Minna was by herself once again.

She let out a sigh, shaking her head at her brave, loyal and at times crazy friend. Mio had a will of steel; if anyone could learn how to fly again, it would be her.

Turning around, she picked up the newspaper Mio brought her. It was last week's issue of one of Neue Karlsland's most popular publications. The entire front page was devoted to Trude and Erica's new medals—the Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross with Oak Leaves, Swords and Diamonds—awarded in honor of their Neuroi kill count milestone: three-hundred and counting, each. The highest shoot down counts ever recorded.

As always the piece was only skin-deep, celebrating the accomplishments of Karlsland's peerless champions, but ignorant of the humans behind the headlines. Minna wished it were different, but with Karlsland as militarily ardent as it was, she doubted change would arrive anytime soon. For now, she contented herself with the knowledge that those closest to the champions knew the truth.

She fished out a pair of scissors from her desk and cut out the page with a steady hand, folding it in a neat rectangle. Then she opened her little drawer, her place of life, and deposited the clipping with its brethren. Another day, another memory to be treasured.

* * *

 _April 27, 1946_

Gertrud's entire body went numb when she saw it happen.

Her shield flickered the moment the Mauser made contact with its surface. The cartridge phased all the way through and landed in her other hand. She didn't move, didn't even try to catch it as it rolled off and fell to the ground below.

She could only stare at her shield, paralyzed with shock. No power. No integrity.

 _It's over._

Something cold started to claw at her insides. She felt nauseated.

"Trude…" Minna called her name, but the word was so laced with sadness that Gertrud pulled away from it. She wasn't ready. "I…look." Now Minna's voice trembled, and Gertrud acceded.

Minna's face was pale, and her eyes shimmered with emotion. In the hand below her shield, a cartridge rested neatly in the curvature of her palm.

Distress constricted Gertrud's chest at the sight. "Oh no." This was the worst possible outcome.

Minna nodded grimly. She dismissed her shield and eyed the metal case in her hand. "I suppose this was to be expected." She let out a shuddering breath. "I had a feeling, after Thursday's sortie."

Gertrud averted her gaze, unwilling to think about their most recent engagement, the way she'd felt the strength leaving her body. She retracted her legs from her Striker—no, it was no longer hers, was it? It would be passed to another Witch, someone younger, someone who still had the stamina to fight. Not her. She was flightless.

The thought stung like acid. She turned and dismounted the launch unit, her jaw tightened against every curse she wanted to utter. Irrational fury threatened to come out, and she fought to stem the tide. One more day, one more battle was all she'd hoped for. Now even that was gone. All because she didn't have the endurance to fight a little longer.

Minna's hand touched her arm; only then did she realize her entire body was trembling, and her fingernails were digging into her palms. She took deep breaths, attempting to relieve the tautness in her muscles.

"It's going to be all right," Minna said softly.

 _No it's not, I'm not ready, I feel sick, I—_ Gertrud bit her tongue, silencing those intrusive thoughts. Duty, she reminded herself. She had her duty. Losing control wouldn't help. "We should head back." She tried to sound detached, but it wasn't working anymore. "There's much to do and little time to do it in."

Already she was considering the paperwork needed and which tasks to prioritize, though the process was hindered by how jumbled her thoughts were at present.

"Before we do that..." Minna said, and the tentativeness in her voice gave Gertrud pause. "There is something I've been considering. A means for closure."

"Closure?" she repeated incredulously. What was there to find closure from? They couldn't fly anymore. All that remained were their final duties as soldiers on the front line.

"I know this must sound silly, but I don't want that battle to be my last memory of…of this." Minna took a deep breath. "I wish to fly again, one last time."

Gertrud blinked. Then she whirled on Minna. "What?" she almost yelled. "What do you mean, 'fly'?"

"I want to fly with our Strikers."

"You can't be serious."

"I am." And Minna's expression said as much; her determination was unmistakable. She would do it.

Gertrud gaped at that realization. "But…but—" She stumbled over her words, over all the ways this was so very, very unwise. "We can't."

"We can still fly."

"We're not allowed!" Now she was the one gripping Minna's arm, in the vain hope it would bring her to her senses. "It's much too dangerous! If Neuroi were to attack…"

"I'm aware of the risks, but we have personnel manning the radar at all hours, and I can detect anything that comes our way."

"You can't be certain of that. You just can't."

"We won't go far, I promise."

"We don't have time for this," Gertrud tried again. "Our status needs to be reported, and our letters of retirement—"

"I drafted those last month."

Gertrud faltered. "You did?"

"Yes. I wanted to have time to handle this properly." The smile that curled Minna's lips was weak, but it was genuine. She inched closer. "I believe this will help. And I would like to do it together, if you're willing."

There were so many reasons to say no, and so few to say yes. But this was their last chance. Once they reported their status to headquarters, that would be it. They would never fly again. Would this make it worse? Or would it provide them the peace Minna—no, both of them—sought? She relented with a sigh. There was only one way to find out, wasn't there?

"Fine. One last time." Her expression turned grave. "But we're staying within range of the anti-aircraft artillery."

"Of course."

"And you will scan the area at all times."

"I will."

"I can bring additional ammunition in case of—"

"Trude." Minna's hands came up to squeeze Gertrud's shoulders. "We'll be all right."

"Just— …Okay. Yes. You're right." She filled her lungs with sorely-needed air. "Let's head out."

They moved in silent unison, plucking two pairs of intercoms from their supplies, as well as one MG42 each—without extra ammunition, as Minna's pointed stare dictated. Then they hopped into their Strikers. While they revved their engines and checked for malfunctions, Minna touched her earpiece.

"St. Trond Base, this is Wing Commander Wilcke. Requesting takeoff clearance for a flight of two, over."

Both of their intercoms crackled to life. _"Wing Commander Wilcke, there are no Neuroi on our radar,"_ the air traffic controller said. _"What's the purpose of your sortie? Over."_

"A training exercise, over," Minna replied, her voice impressively smooth for someone lying through their teeth.

There was a pause on the other end, and Gertrud started to worry; everyone on the base knew this wasn't a standard time for flight training. What if they were denied and reported?

Then the ATC's voice came again. _"Acknowledged. You have clearance for takeoff."_ He sounded no different from before, and the knot in Gertrud's stomach unwound itself. It was okay. They were okay.

"Roger that, St. Trond Base." Minna cut the connection and turned to her. "Are you ready?"

Gertrud gazed at her Striker for a long moment, surprised to find she was nervous. She hadn't experienced that for a long time, not since the beginning of her career. Steeling herself, she nodded.

"Wing Commander Wilcke and Squadron Leader Barkhorn, taking off."

Minna disengaged from her launch unit, Gertrud a second behind her. They taxied forward, gaining speed once they emerged outside on the runway. Another push of their engines pulled them into a climb to an altitude of five-hundred meters, where they settled on a comfortable cruising speed, flying abreast.

Gertrud reached for the MG42 slung over her back before she realized what she was doing, and stopped herself. To her, flight meant there was danger, and so there was an ingrained vigilance she hadn't noticed until now. Easing her hands back down, she glanced at Minna and noticed her friend was looking around. Following her example, Gertrud allowed her eyes to wander—not to scan the airspace for hostiles, but to see.

It was a smattering of sensory experiences. During battle her surroundings were a grid, but now it was scenery. The sky was a pale blue, accompanied by a sun not yet at full strength, typical of early morning. All around them, the green of the Belgican forests stretched in every direction. A flock of birds took off from a nearby lake, heading toward the mist-covered mountains in the distance. Her hair and uniform fluttered in the breeze, and the air was fragrant with the smell of pine and dewdrops.

There was something about it all, something she had difficulty putting her finger on.

 _Peaceful,_ she realized.

Battle was a cacophony of sounds, and Gertrud had catalogued all of them over the years. The revving of their magical engines, and the thrumming of their propellers. Chatter and barked orders on their intercoms. The conjuring of shields and the constant report of gunfire. Neuroi beams buzzing as they sliced through the air, accompanied by the monstrous screeches of their masters. The shattering glass and chiming bells when a Neuroi at last disintegrated into shards.

She scarcely registered those sounds anymore, routine as they were. But now, when there was nothing save two cruising Strikers and the wind whistling past her ears, the difference was all too clear.

"Beautiful," Minna said. She sounded distant and wistful, almost as if she hadn't meant for it to slip out.

"It is," Gertrud replied, and heard her voice crack. Her eyes widened; what was that warmth prickling at their corners? A brush of her fingers revealed wetness. She stared at her damp digits in bewilderment, even as more liquid streaked across her cheeks, unwelcome like the sensation of loss welling in her gut.

 _Why?_ she wondered. _Why now? Why not before?_

Minna drew nearer. When Gertrud looked over, she was greeted by eyes as moist as her own.

"How about a few practice maneuvers?" Minna asked, so hoarse she was barely audible. Gertrud merely nodded in return, lacking trust in her compromised vocal chords.

When Minna gave the signal for an Immelmann turn, they sped up as one and let the wind dry their tears.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Now that we're past a certain point in the timeline, there's something you should know.

You might be aware of Humikane's 'unofficial' Strike Witches 1947 tweets. While I agree with some, I consider others to be fairly ridiculous, so I won't be adhering to them. I might use some elements but yeah, the rest is not happening.

So why this particular timestamp? Simple: it places Shirley's age at nearly 20 and Erica's at nearly 19, so they're still in active duty.

* * *

 _January 23, 1948_

Minna stretched, the motion long and luxurious, and heard something crack. She winced at the sound. At least it was merely that, and nothing serious. Rolling her shoulders, she returned her eyes to the source of her spinal discomfort: paperwork. Truly, some things never changed. A wry smile played on her lips at the thought.

It seemed that the higher one's rank, the more time one spent paper-pushing instead of being out in the field. Not that Minna hated office work, not at all, but as she shook out her stiff writing hand once again, she idly thought Air Marshal Galland's errant behavior wasn't that astonishing after all. Minna didn't relish the notion of being trapped in administration if the impulse to fly was still so powerful.

Her features softened at the memory of flight, and there was a brief pause in the scratching of pen on paper before the thought ebbed away.

Flying as a Witch was a unique experience, but that part of her life was over, and she was grateful for it. As saddening as it was to leave her former units behind, the 501st most of all, retiring from active duty opened a wealth of new experiences for her. The only reason she was swamped with desk work now was because of an upcoming operation; under normal circumstances, she spent a great deal of time traveling the world for observational purposes.

And she loved it. After the stress of managing a Joint Fighter Wing, this new line of work was serene. No longer did she need to bear superiors who sought to undermine her or her unit, or negotiate harrowing life-or-death engagements. The latter was the strangest feeling of all—for a time her days almost seemed empty—but she absolutely preferred casual conversation with her comrades to the hardships of war.

Not that she would ever utter such sentiments in public. Witches were idolized as heroes around the globe; Karlsland in particular glorified their accomplishments. And if there was one lesson she'd learned over the course of her career as a 'war hero', it was picking one's battles.

With a well-practiced flourish, she finalized her signature on the last letter, stamped it, and nodded in satisfaction. Another array of tasks done. She was making good time, and would assuredly be ready for the briefing eleven days from now. She stood to clear up her desk, only now truly noticing how dark the rest of her office was; the sun had dipped below the horizon hours ago.

While she tidied, her mind was already entertaining the thought of reading a few pages of the latest romance novel she'd managed to procure. She was forced to leave off at a particularly tantalizing part last time, and couldn't wait to find out how it ended. But her ruminations were interrupted by two brisk knocks at her door, prompting a puzzled stare. Visitors were rare at this hour.

"Come in," she called softly, even as she racked her brain for anything she might have forgotten to take care of. But when the door swung open, it told Minna all she needed to know.

Trude smiled at her from the doorway. "Hello, Minna."

"Trude!"

Her voice rang out a tad louder than appropriate, but she ignored it, much preferring to hurry around her desk and across the room. Trude barely had time to stride in and close the door before Minna enveloped her in her arms and held her in a tight embrace. Her friend laughed into her shoulder, squeezing back. Minna lingered in that position for an indeterminate amount of time, basking in the familiarity of Trude's grip, until she pulled back to look her old friend in the eyes.

"It's been so long," she said breathlessly, still reeling from the surprise. Twenty-two months had passed since they'd last spoken face to face. After seven years of joint service, it was almost surreal to consider. "I thought you were due to arrive next week."

"I know." Trude's voice was gentle, and Minna knew her reply had nothing to do with schedules. "I arranged for an earlier flight. There's a storm rolling in over the Pacific tomorrow." She took in the room before her eyes landed on Minna again. "You look like you're doing well."

Minna nodded. "Very." She looked around as well, noting the lack of comfortable furniture. "However, I'm afraid my office is unsuited to entertaining guests. Would you like to accompany me to my quarters? We can catch up there."

Trude paused briefly. "If it's not an imposition…"

Minna shook her head, chuckling. The pause was Trude thinking it over, as though there ought to be hesitation present before entering the private quarters of a close friend. It was so much like her to stick to etiquette, even after all this time.

"Of course not. Come on."

* * *

Minna's abode, temporary though it was, held far more touches that made it distinctly hers. Her dresser bore photographs of her old comrades, and there was a modest bouquet of roses in a vase on her bedside table. Other prized possessions included a high-grade radio of Karlsland make, a coffee grinder, and an electric tea kettle.

At Minna's insistence, Trude sat down on the two-seater sofa this room came with, whilst Minna brewed some tea for the both of them. In truth, Minna preferred coffee, and she knew Trude did as well, but they would have to sleep sooner rather than later.

Trude thanked her when she accepted the cup. Minna took a seat next to her, settling into the brown leather, and they spent a moment in companionable silence, sipping the hot beverage.

After the first taste, Trude peered into her cup. "Hmm." She turned to Minna with a curious gaze. "What kind of tea is this?"

Minna savored the tea's sweet, flowery taste a smidge longer before she answered. "Britannian chamomile, a relaxing blend." A fond memory came to mind. "Lynne introduced it to me."

It'd been a particularly quiet day in Venezia. The two of them ended up discussing different types of tea, which in turn led to an impromptu tasting session. Since then, Minna enjoyed making it herself as well, although her chamomile tea never quite tasted like the batch Lynne made that day; Lynne's tea was unique to her and her only.

Trude nodded and took another sip, studying the tea's golden color. "Well, I have to say it's pretty good."

Minna smiled into her cup, recognizing it as a compliment even though the wording was understated. There was a clink as Trude set down her tea and faced her fully. Her light brown eyes studied Minna intently.

"You do look relaxed," Trude said. "I take it you're still enjoying your new assignment?"

"I am." Minna took another sip, delighting in the warmth it brought.

"They're not asking too much of you?"

"Not at all. It's turned out even better than I hoped." Minna sank into the sofa a bit more, a droll glance accentuating her reply. "As I have written to you more than once, I might add."

Trude's eyes widened. "Sorry. It's just…" She sighed. "You know I worry."

"I do." Minna's amusement became fondness; she always thought Trude's concern to be rather sweet, although Trude herself clearly didn't see it in that light. It seemed she still didn't have a knack for picking up on playful banter either. "Speaking of work, however, how are your duties proceeding?"

Trude left for Neue Karlsland after their magic waned. When Minna asked her why, she'd explained that her desire to stay on the front lines conflicted with her need to spend time with Christiane. So instead of lingering in Europe, she accepted an offer to drill new recruits at the Neue Berlin Akademie. After an initial learning period, she took to it like a fish to water.

"Good. I started training a new batch not too long ago. You know how it is at first." They shared a knowing glance at that. A trainee's life was never easy. "But they picked up quickly. Many of them will go far."

"I'm positive they will, with an instructor such as you."

Trude smiled at the flattery. "Thank you. My superiors and I are pleased with the results so far."

The ease with which Trude accepted that compliment made Minna's eyes soften. This tête-à-tête was such a contrast to the last time they'd spoken in person. In 1946, their final days at St. Trond had been a mix of hectic planning, rushed meetings, and a subdued sense of grief. The 501st hadn't pressed much, merely accepted their retirements—though some dealt with it better than others—but it had been a difficult time for all of them.

"It seems this has done the two of us some good," she said gently. "You don't look nearly as restless now."

Trude pulled back slightly. "What do you mean?"

The astonishment in that response was no surprise to Minna; her friend had never been the best at analyzing her own feelings. Sometimes she needed a little push, and Minna was more than happy to be that extra nudge.

"You were always so eager to fight; I feared you might overwork yourself." It was a simple matter to recall the many occasions she instructed Trude to slow down and make some time for relaxation. Naturally, although the will was there, her stubborn friend rarely complied. "It's good to see you let down your guard."

Trude didn't reply at first, her brow furrowed in thought. Minna took this time to sample more of her tea, inhaling the scent as she drank. She cradled the warm cup in her hands.

"I suppose that was the case," Trude finally said. She crossed her legs, arms loose and expression content. It was a casual posture, so different to the incredibly rigid girl Minna first met all those years ago. "To be honest, I still want to sometimes. Fight, I mean. But…" Trude nodded to herself. "It's okay now. I'm at peace with it."

"It becomes easier over time, doesn't it?"

"It does."

"And I presume Christiane has been a boon in that regard," Minna said knowingly.

The grin this prompted was heartwarming. The main benefit of Trude's new line of work was its location; Christiane's hospital was relatively close by, which meant Trude could spend time with her often. She frequently mentioned these sojourns in her letters, and the tone was always happy. The visits lifted Christiane's spirit as well, as she was still relegated to the confines of the hospital; the prolonged duration of her coma left her body frail and susceptible to illness. That made Minna all the more overjoyed, to know the two siblings were finally receiving the family time they needed.

"How is she doing?" she asked.

"Wonderfully. She sends her regards." Trude picked up her cup again, drinking deeper this time around. Minna followed suit. "I did a double take when I checked my calendar last week. She's turning seventeen this year."

Minna hummed in agreement. "Difficult to believe, isn't it? It's been so long already," she said, touching on the true meaning behind Trude's words.

"It only feels like yesterday she was still a little girl." Trude's gaze grew distant for a fleeting moment, accosted by the type of memories Minna knew all too well. Yellowed and bittersweet. Trude shook them away. "But enough of that. She was very excited for the operation."

"As are we all. I can only hope we'll be successful."

Command was preparing for a push into Berlin's airspace, with a strike on the Hive as the end goal. Activity in the area was increasing exponentially as a result; troops and assets were being gathered, the battle plans were almost finalized, and veteran Witches were being called in to offer counsel, Minna and Trude among them.

This would be the first attack on a Hive without the aid of modified Neuroi technology. Although Minna was relieved no one was tampering with that anymore, the lack of precedence left her concerned over the efficacy of Hive strikes hereafter. If the plan failed, countless lives would be at risk, among them close friends Minna absolutely did not want to lose.

"We will," Trude said suddenly. Minna tilted her head in wonder, eyebrows raised.

"My! Is that optimism I hear? And here I fancied you a realist."

Trude inclined her head as well, but a knowing grin informed Minna she detected the tease this time around.

"It's not optimism; it's certainty." Her expression became serious. "We'll succeed. We've done it before, and we'll do it again."

 _Isn't that merely optimism backed up by precedent?_

Trude, in all her sincerity, seemed to miss the quirk in her reasoning. Then again, perhaps that was all right. Perhaps optimism was enough. They had certainly prevailed in the face of insurmountable odds before. Minna never let her hopes get ahead of her, but she supposed it could be acceptable to dream a little.

"It would be nice to rebuild Karlsland after all this time…" She'd visited Neue Karlsland once or twice. Despite the remarkable likeness, it never felt like home.

"Definitely. It's been long enough."

"So it has." Minna finished her tea. Leaning over, she noticed Trude's cup was empty as well. "Another cup?" The question fell from her lips before the thought to ask it even registered.

Trude regarded her warmly. "I'd like that."

Neither of them turned in for the night until long after they ran out of tea.


End file.
